


We'll Get There One Day

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I…I didn’t…I didn’t cuddle you!” Stiles shouted it a bit maniacally, hoping the more surprise he expressed the less Derek would be compelled to kill him.</p><p>“I know,” Derek replied easily, sitting up and stretching, muscles in his shoulder popping. “I did.” The whole pack stopped their movements to stare. “Because you sleep like a spaz, Stiles,” Derek grumbled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Get There One Day

The first time it happened was actually legitimate. Derek had been on a kick about the importance of pack bonding, he kept overselling the whole ‘strengthen your abilities’ part and Stiles knew it was mostly because they were still getting their asses handed to them by Allison.

So, he’d declared the first weekend in October “You-Will-Learn-to-Fight-Cohesively-or-I-Will-Leave-You-To-Starve-in-the-Woods”. Boyd and Isaac kept asking Erica if she could handle a three day camping trip without her hair straightener but it was Scott who was clinging desperately to his bag of moisturizers.

“They _reek_ ,” Derek had glared, before snatching them from Scott and tossing them away from the car. Scott look scandalized.

“You don’t understand I have really sensitive skin—“

Stiles had tried not to look too bummed out watching them bickering, the pack shoving duffles into Derek’s car, and he was just about to wave a goodbye and head back to his jeep when Derek turned towards him, expectantly. Stiles just sort of stared.

“Where’s your shit?” Derek asked without preamble.

“What?” He’d looked to Scott for help because he wasn’t sure, here. “Me? But I’m not…” he bent his index fingers and mimed fangs a bit awkwardly.

“Human or not you are _always_ in the middle of it, which means you too need to get in the car and learn how to work with them,” Derek reasoned, he sounded irritated, like Stiles’ humanity was a complete affront to him. But Stiles just tried not to fist pump.

“It’s cos you love me, don’t lie,” Stiles told him. He wasn’t sure but he swears Derek’s lip twitches.

So, that’s how the pack found themselves in the middle of the woods (which Stiles pointed out they were actually already in the middle of to begin with). By the time they’re finished training that day the entire group, beaten and sore, piled into the five-man tent they’d packed.

It was tight.

There was an awkward sort of kerfuffle as everyone tried to claim a spot. Boyd bowled Stiles over in an attempt to lay his sleeping bag next to Erica and when Stiles attempted the same to Scott Isaac slipped in out of nowhere to claim it. This left Stiles between the canvas of the tent and Derek; he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Derek seemed to be equally conflicted.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a puppy pile, Stiles was fairly certain were they werecats the whole forest would shake with the rumble of their collective purring. There was something deeply amusing to Stiles that being zipped up in a pocket filled with werewolves could be the safest Stiles had probably ever felt.

That was until he awoke the next morning to find himself cuddling up to Derek. Not just my head fell against your shoulder forgive me for my gravity problems, but curled up around _each other_ cuddling. Stiles’ head was tucked beneath Derek’s chin and Derek’s strong arm was draped around him, their feet tangled together.

Stiles made a high pitched choking noise that woke _everyone_ up.

“I…I didn’t…I didn’t cuddle you!” Stiles shouted it a bit maniacally, hoping the more surprise he expressed the less Derek would be compelled to kill him.

“I know,” Derek replied easily, sitting up and stretching, muscles in his shoulder popping. “I did.” The whole pack stopped their movements to stare. “Because you sleep like a _spaz,_ Stiles,” Derek grumbled.

“That is true,” Scott affirmed. Stiles didn’t miss the pout that flitted across Isaac’s face.

“What?” Stiles asked, shocked, trying to extricate himself from the tangle of sleeping bags and blankets.

“You kept punching me in the face and _kicking_ I had to,” Derek explained with a shrug.

“Yeah, sure,” Erica laughed.

That night Stiles fell asleep with his back to Derek, his limbs tucked into himself, but when he woke it was to Derek draped over him, his arm like a restraint across Stiles’ own, Derek’s breath hot on the back of his neck.

~*~

The second time was still fairly legit. Derek was injured on a case and he came tumbling through Stiles’ window clutching his bleeding arm.

“I just vacuumed in here,” was all Stiles really said in response to the mud and dirt he tracked in after him.

“Can I have a towel?” Derek asked, staring at him incredulously.

“Sorry, I’m a terrible hostess. I usually offer all my guests cold drinks, a light snack and the first aid kit,” Stiles replied, making his way into the hall bathroom. He grabbed an old wash towel and the Neosporin but by the time he had returned the wound was pretty much healed.

“That is so not fair,” Stiles said, tossing him the towel.

“Yeah, it’s a gift,” Derek said, wiping at the drying blood, tone heavy with sarcasm.

“Your face is a gift,” Stiles grumbled, collapsing into his desk chair before he realized how much of an insult that actually wasn’t, and he felt his face heat up wondering if Derek could hear the quickening of his pulse.

Derek collapsed on top of Stiles’ rumpled sheets and threw an arm across his face shielding himself from the light. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned back to his laptop, putting the final touches on a lab report before powering it down.

Derek still looked a bit pale and bruised when Stiles left to go brush his teeth. When he came back into the room in his plaid pajama bottoms and a soft cotton t-shirt Derek was sound asleep atop his covers. Stiles watched him for a minute trying to figure out what to do.

“I am _not_ waking that up,” he decided to no one in particular. “But injured or not I’ll be _damned_ if I am sleeping on the floor.” So he mustered up as much resolution as he could and slid beneath the covers of his bed. _Besides_ , Stiles thought, _that was the rule right? Fully clothed with the covers for separation?_ He wasn’t sure of the protocol here.

“No homo?” He whispered switching off the light.

When he woke the next morning Derek was curled up beneath the covers with him, leaking heat like a furnace against his back.

~*~

The third time was _sort of_ legit, as long as you were squinting and tilting your head to the side a bit. Stiles had just come back from the bathroom collapsing against his desk chair, intent on taking a well-earned—well, sort of mildly deserved—break from economics. He’d managed to type “youpor” into his web browser before a low throat clear sent his laptop flying as he shrieked and flailed.

“Derek!” He shouted, clutching at his chest and spinning around to see the werewolf stepping out from behind his door. “Oh my _God_ , you have to stop doing that!”

“Sorry,” Derek replied, but he didn’t really look it. “Hey listen, there are some hunters in town and they’ve been casing my place, I need somewhere to lay low for tonight.” It wasn’t even really a question and Stiles just sort of balked and waved a hand to his bed.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, his heartbeat returning to normal. He didn’t think it would be worth it to point out that the actual _worst_ place to lay low was in the bedroom of the local sheriff’s teenage son, not to really mention that by now half of Beacon Hills was probably aware that Stiles’ bedroom seemed to be Derek’s N.O.R.A.D when shit was at def con one.

When it came time to go to bed, Stiles just fixed Derek with a firm glare he knew was supposed to assert authority, but the only time he’d actually ever really tried that it was on his neighbor’s yorkie and Derek was actually a lot more intimidating.

“You can sleep on the fl-

“I’m not sleeping in the floor.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded like that was his plan all along, watching Derek pull off his t-shirt and climb into the bed in just his jeans. Stiles pulled off his own jeans and threw them vaguely in the direction of his overflowing hamper. He looked at his sleep pants draped over the foot of the bed. It was a warm night, and if there wasn’t nearly six feet of brooding sour wolf beneath his covers Stiles would have opted out of them.

“Are you coming?” Derek asked his face buried in one of Stiles’ pillows.

“Umm…” Stiles wasn’t sure.

“Just hurry up and shut the light off,” Derek commanded and Stiles scowled because _hello_ this was actually his bedroom here. Irritated he pulled off his own t-shirt and climbed smugly into bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. He snuggled into the sheets with as much challenge as one could manage doing such a thing.

He half expected Derek to protest but then he was being rolled over and dragged into Derek’s bare chest, Derek shifting and jerking around until they were both settled in a comfortable position. Stiles didn’t know what to do with his hands so he let one settle against Derek’s hip and the other brush both of their stomachs between them.

There was a moment of silence then,

“Hey, Derek—“

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“Yup, okay,” and he shut up.

~*~

The fourth time was not really legitimate at all. Stiles and Derek had just finished a stakeout that went absolutely nowhere and Stiles asked if Derek wanted a ride home.

“Not really,” he’d said, and Stiles was just sort of left looking at him because he was sitting in the passenger’s side of his jeep.

“Do…you want to go back to…my…house?” Stiles asked, hesitantly. Derek just sort of shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Okie dokie.” Stiles replied, and he’d started up the car and drove them back to his house.

They ate left over pizza holed up in Stiles’ room. Derek kicked off his shoes and socks and pulled his t-shirt off and sat on Stiles’ bed and read _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ while Stiles finished his calculus homework.

When he finally closed his text book and pushed his notebook away in disgust Derek had put a pretty sizeable dent in the book.

“I’m…gonna get ready for bed,” Stiles said, mostly directed at the room at large. When he got back from the bathroom Derek was settled beneath the covers, staring up at the ceiling, his head resting on his arms folded behind his head.

Stiles pulled his t-shirt off and left it by the bed as he slid beneath the covers. The dip on the other side of the bed was comfortingly familiar by now. When Stiles shut the light off and the room was cast into darkness Derek shifted tugging Stiles gently so he’d roll over. Stiles wasn’t sure where Derek wanted him until Derek was turning too, until his back was pressed to Stiles’ chest and he was grasping Stiles’ arm lightly and draping it over himself.

They both settled back against the mattress, getting the feel for this new position. He wanted to make a joke about spoons but then Derek made this little noise of contentment and Stiles’ swallowed heavily and changed his mind.

“Hey,” Stiles broke the silence, his voice cracking slightly. “Derek?”

“Mm?” It wasn’t exactly a shout of encouragement but it was more than he usually got. Stiles paused trying to figure out what to say.

“Why?” Derek didn’t say anything for a minute and when he finally did it was muffled and directed to the pillow.

“Sleep better.”

“Oh, right, yea, course.”

Stiles thought Derek could sense his confusion because he was shifting slightly to speak to the room instead of the pillow.

“Last month…” Derek said, clearing his throat. “With the camping trip…being all together like that with the pack, everyone practically on top of one another,” Derek tried to explain, but Stiles was confused.

“You’re making it sound like a wereorgy.” Derek shrugged.

“It’s not far off, not really. The pack is protection, Stiles. Its comfort and home. I can sense the others because I’m their Alpha but after we got back…it was like there was something missing.” Stiles could feel Derek’s back was growing hotter where they were pressed together.

“You mean me?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged, and then nodded.

“I thought it was just the scent but I tested that theory and it failed.”

“How?” Stiles asked, curious. Derek didn’t say anything but Stiles suddenly remembered.

“My red sweatshirt, you ass hole you stole it didn’t you? For weird nefarious wolf purposes, you freak! That’s my favorite sweatshirt.” Stiles shouted pulling away.

Derek glared at him over his shoulder and Stiles thumped back against the mattress.

“Looked everywhere for that,” he grumbled. “Can’t believe you were cuddling up with it, it’s probably traumatized.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growled.

“So, it’s like a wolf thing?” Stiles asked, again. There was a pause before Derek shrugged again.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh.”

~*~

By the fifth time, there really was no question of legitimacy. Derek offered no excuses as he climbed through Stiles’s window and collapsed dramatically across his hastily made bed. Stiles barely even looked up from his chemistry homework, just gave a curt nod in greeting and pulled up Word.

“I’m exhausted. I’ve been training the pack all day. I swear, between Boyd and Erica flirting and Isaac nearly killing himself to impress a _completely_ oblivious Scott, they’re going to be the death of me.” Stiles nodded sympathetically but he was really only half paying attention.

“Is your dad home?” Derek asked and Stiles shook his head. “Then I’m taking a shower.”

“Mhm,” Stiles replied, absently. It wasn’t until a minute later when he heard the sound of the water running that he realized. And then he was trying really hard not to picture Derek Hale soaping himself up with his own wash cloth.

By the time Derek returned, towel slung around his hips Stiles was still staring unseeingly at a blank word document, cursor flashing accusingly at him. He hit the sleep button in the corner of his keyboard and the screen went dark. His face flushed as he watched Derek’s reflection pulling out a pair of his own boxers from the top drawer and pulling them on beneath the towel, which fell away uselessly. Stiles caught the swell of his ass before it disappeared beneath cotton.

“Yeah, just help yourself,” Stiles replied, sarcastically. Derek turned and collapsed against Stiles’ bed.

“It’s either that or I go commando,” he replied, settling himself back. Stiles felt his eyes widen, all too aware of the quickening of his own pulse so he laughed hard and a bit more deranged than he intended in an attempt to cover it up, but it only made Derek give him a questioning sort of look, like he was concerned for his mental stability.

“You coming?” Derek asked. Stiles glanced forlornly at his laptop but when he turned back around, Derek was lifting himself up slightly to pull at the covers, the arch of his body accentuating the bulge in the boxer briefs that were just this side of too small.

Stiles groped blindly for his computer and slammed the cover with a resounding smack and nodded.

“Yes, y-yup, coming, yes,” he mumbled, stripping off clothing as he went until he too was in nothing more than boxers. He barely shut the light off before Derek was nosing at the back of his neck, pulling him closer and maneuvering him so he could bury his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles was pretty sure Derek was asleep within moments, but he was restless as all hell and couldn’t find a comfortable position. He tossed and turned for a quarter of an hour, Derek’s grip falling slack before tightening as the werewolf drifted in and out of sleep.

Finally Stiles tried to slip out of the bed, but Derek’s grip tightened firmly and he couldn’t move.

“Ugh, Derek I have to pee,” Stiles complained, trying to pry Derek’s hands off of him.

“No you don’t,” he responded grumpily, tugging Stiles closer. “It’s just your brain tricking you,” he said, unconvincingly.

“I think it’s probably the liter of Mountain Dew I just consumed an hour ago, actually,” Stiles reasoned. Finally pulling away.

“Why’d you have that much caffeine right before bed?” Derek questioned, letting his hands drop.

“Because, I have an assload of homework I haven’t done and I was planning on pulling an all-nighter,” Stiles admitted. Derek looked confused.

“Then why are you in bed?” Stiles knew Derek could see in the dark so he didn’t bother to turn the light on as he fixed him with his best, _are you fucking kidding me?_ Glare. Derek didn’t respond.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles asked, losing all semblance of subtlety. Derek just sort of gave him this bemused expression. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles shouted, because it seemed pretty appropriate. There was a beam of moonlight falling across Derek’s bare chest and Stiles could see how taught and hard his nipples were. His brain was pretty close to short circuiting.

“Stiles—“ Derek started, moving forward slightly but Stiles shook his head and started moving around, mostly because of nervous energy but also because he still really had to pee.

“Why am I in bed? Why would I be in bed with a half-naked man whose musculature looks like it was sculpted by the Gods when I could be doing fucking _chemistry_ homework? I have NO idea, Derek, none. Couldn’t be cos you’re all sleepy,” Stiles gestured. “And you’re still kinda damp and your spikes are all falling over and you smell like my shampoo and have I mentioned you’re half naked? Because that’s really the only thing I can concentrate on right now." There was a painfully awkward pause.

“Oh,” was all Derek’s response. Stiles waited for the rest but realized that was it that was all he was getting.

“Oh?!” Stiles shouted, waving his arms about wildly. “That’s it? That’s all I get? What is your damage, Hale?”

“What do you _want_?” Derek growled and Stiles could _hear_ the pout, could see in the dark the way his brow furrowed and his eyes flashed, lower lip turned down. _Actual Five Year Old Alpha Derek Hale_ , Stiles thought absently.

“I don’t know!” Stiles shouted, truthfully. “To…tell me…” his mouth gaped, and he gestured between them. Derek gave him a questioning glare. “I don’t know! To tell me how you _f-feel_ or something!” He could feel his face heat up, because he just asked Derek Hale about his emotions and he wasn’t even entirely sure he had them.

“I thought I was!” Derek shouted, gesturing to his half naked form pointedly.

“Oh.” Stiles replied. Derek rolled his eyes. “Hey!” Stiles shouted, irritated. “This is _not_ my fault! Maybe you should be a bit more _direct_ ,” he hurled it like an insult. Derek kneeled up on the bed and Stiles’ eyes widened as Derek darted forward, snatching at his wrist.

“Maybe I will,” he growled, yanking. Stiles gave a muffled sort of shriek and landed sprawled across the bed. Derek rolled him over onto his back straddling him in one fluid motion.

“Maybe you should,” he said, he intended for it to sound commanding but mostly it just sounded breathless and quiet beneath the frantic beating of his heart. Derek looked him up and down, his hands spanning Stiles’ bare shoulders, pinning him to the bed, Stiles’ back arching up in an involuntary attempt to find more contact with Derek’s skin; he was half hard in his boxers.

“Is this better?” Derek asked, slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth as he ducked his head and captured Stiles’ slightly parted lips with his own. The kiss was chaste and Derek pulled back too quickly for Stiles’ liking. He looked suddenly unsure of himself as he looked at Stiles’ face as though searching for confirmation.

“Stiles?” Derek asked after a moment, Stiles realized he hadn’t actually answered out loud.

“Sorry, I forgot…how to English.” Derek ducked his head and smiled. It destroyed something inside Stiles to say what he had to next.

“Could you umm…get off me?” Derek looked up, eyes wide. “It’s just you’re sitting on my bladder and I really do have to pee.”

“Oh my _God_ Stiles,” Derek sighed, rolling off. Stiles shrugged guiltily and pulled himself up. “Just hurry up and get back here,” Derek hissed.

“Like I _want_ to have to pee right now” Stiles grumbled, giving Derek one last look over, practically stumbling at the bulge _twitching_ in Derek’s boxers. Stiles turned and made it to the door before they fell across his head.

“You can have them back now.”

“Oh sweet merciful Odin.” Stiles sighed, clutching them to his face.


End file.
